They came to The Leaky Cauldron, the timeworn inn tucked between a record shop and a bookshop on Charing Cross Road. Inside, Tom the innkeeper gave a wide, toothless grin when he saw them.
"Owen! Business is booming, I see. One fish-flavored green beer for me, pumpkin juice for the children," Owen Harris called out cheerfully.
"Right away, Owen, just a moment."
Tom gave a slight bow and shuffled behind the counter. His body was bent with age, his hair almost entirely gone, his gums bare of teeth, and his face deeply lined like weathered parchment. He moved like a collapsed walnut, oddly wizened yet composed in his shabbiness.
"He's really devoted," Adrian observed, watching the old man flick his fingers and send a wandless spell flying toward the hearth, igniting the fireplace in a flash of green flame.
It wasn't just a party trick. Though not a complex incantation, wandless magic, even for minor charms, required focus and control. Adrian's appreciation for the man grew.
"Owen! Owen Harris!" came a call from near one of the front windows.
Owen turned and broke into a grin. "Arthur! It's been too long!"
He greeted Arthur Weasley with a warmth that contrasted sharply with the disdain he'd shown the Weasley name in private. He embraced Arthur like an old friend, as though their families had never stood at opposite ends of the social spectrum.
"It's rare we get a moment like this—come, let's have a drink," Owen said, sensing an opportunity. Arthur's interest in Muggle artifacts made him the perfect contact.
"Gladly," Arthur replied, glancing toward his wife, who had struck up a conversation with Morgan Le Fay Harris by the fireplace. "Ron can hang out with your boy. Just make sure they stay out of trouble."
At that moment, a gangly red-haired boy with freckles across his nose stepped forward, his eyes flickering shyly toward Adrian.
Adrian adjusted his bag slightly, fingers brushing over the Galleons inside, and stepped forward with confidence. "Hi. I'm Adrian Harris. Want to walk around together?"
Ron gave a relieved smile. "Sure. I'm Ron Weasley."
Ron proved to be chatty and unguarded. He rarely had a listener so attentive—especially one who seemed genuinely curious. Among the Weasley siblings, Ron often felt invisible, overshadowed by the brilliance or mischief of his older brothers.
Adrian listened closely, drawing out useful details. Ron rambled about his family, his five older brothers, and the excitement of visiting Diagon Alley, filling the space with awkward but earnest energy.
Weasley, Adrian thought, drifting into a semi-analytical state. The name originates from "weasel," an animal viewed with suspicion in British folklore. Red-gold fur, clever but underappreciated. Ron's father is Arthur, same name as King Arthur, and interestingly, Arthur's Patronus is a weasel.
Adrian's thoughts deepened, tracing connections. Arthur and Percival—Percy, Ron's brother—is likely short for that. One of the Knights of the Round Table. And Ginny? A nickname for Ginevra, which is a variation of Guinevere, King Arthur's queen. So… King Arthur names his daughter after his wife? Odd symbolism, if unintentional.
He shook off the thought. He wasn't here to philosophize family trees.
With Ron animatedly discussing Chudley Cannons tactics—specifically the infamous "Chaser Charybdis Blitz" strategy—Adrian just smiled and nodded.
"Hey, Adrian! Look over there—it's packed!" Ron suddenly exclaimed.
They turned toward the bustling crowd gathered outside Quality Quidditch Supplies.
Cheers erupted in bursts, and curious shoppers were craning their necks to get a look inside. Ron grabbed Adrian by the wrist. "Come on, let's go see!"
They pushed their way forward just as a voice rang out beside them.
"Wow! Malfoy's already earned five merit badges. He's gonna get Aidan Lynch's signed poster!"
Adrian blinked. "Who's Aidan Lynch?"
Ron gaped at him. "He's the Seeker for the Irish National Team! In the last World Cup qualifier, he turned the game around at the last second. He's a legend!"
Ron's eyes were glued to the limited-edition poster glittering on the wall of the shop. His hero-worship was unmistakable.
"Hey, Adrian, maybe we should enter too. We could totally beat Malfoy!"
Adrian turned just in time to see Draco Malfoy stride into the circle, platinum blond hair gleaming. His pale, pointed face was twisted into a smirk of contempt.
"The Weasleys? Think you can beat me? Try it."
Draco's gaze slid over Ron with theatrical disgust—he didn't even need words to make Ron feel poor and out of place. His posture, his expression—it all screamed superiority, the same old pure-blood prejudice that poisoned families like Malfoy's.
Funny, Adrian thought. The Weasleys are actually one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight—just not the rich kind.
Draco's hair caught the sunlight as if enchanted. His aristocratic features might have been pleasant, if not for the arrogant slant of his brow and the sneer distorting his lips.
"We'll definitely beat you!" Ron snapped, balling his fists. "Right, Adrian? Let's enter!"
Draco's gaze shifted to Adrian now. The two boys were nearly the same height. Draco raised an eyebrow.
"You're Harris, right? From the Harris family?" he asked, clearly assessing the other boy's clothing and composure. "You look like one of ours. Much better than the blood traitors."
He tilted his head. "I'm Draco Malfoy, of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Malfoy. If you can answer three questions correctly, I'll let you be my friend. Better company than Crabbe and Goyle, anyway."
Adrian quirked a smile. He's not even trying to hide it. Just wants a follower—anyone more polished than those two trolls. If memory serves, he tried this same trick on Harry Potter. His arrogance drove Harry away. He just wanted to connect—but his pride got in the way.
Even so, Adrian hesitated. He wasn't confident in answering obscure wizarding trivia. His knowledge came from reading the original books and some scattered lore. He understood major events, yes—but the intricacies of magical history or obscure Quidditch stats? That was different.
"Line's moving," Ron said, pulling Adrian forward. "We're up soon."
Adrian scanned the posted questions and answers. The quiz was meant to reward deep fandom and observational skill.
He observed carefully. Of the last four participants, only one had gotten more than two answers correct.
"Mate, this might be bad," Ron whispered. "I can't answer a single one. What about you?"
But Adrian, oddly, was no longer worried. His sharp mind had already begun dissecting the questions with the precision of a born Xueba—and even if he didn't know all the answers, he was good at figuring out what the test wanted.
These were brain teasers—logic puzzles, really. To Adrian, they felt like exploiting the blind spots in wizardkind's reasoning, a result of their detachment from structured logic. Most wizards had never been trained to think systematically. As a former math teacher, Adrian had passed time solving Sudoku and Muggle logic riddles for fun. These "challenges" were basically warm-ups to him.
"Don't worry, I've got this," Adrian said confidently, patting Ron on the back to calm him.
Their turn came.
The clerk, wearing a Quality Quidditch Supplies robe embroidered with a fluttering snitch, gave his wand a swish. A large ten-inch-wide scroll unfurled midair, the first riddle written in swirling silver ink:
"You have five identical Galleons. How can they all touch each other directly?"
"Merlin's pants—I've never even held five Galleons at once!" Ron moaned, digging his fingers into his hair.
"This has nothing to do with owning Galleons," Adrian said calmly, stopping Ron from turning himself into a dramatic tangle. "Watch."
He pulled five Sickle-sized coins from his pouch and began demonstrating on the shop counter. "Lay one Sickle flat in the center. Now place the second and third resting on top of it like a triangle. Then the fourth and fifth go on top, angled in, like a little star. All five touch."
Gasps rippled through the crowd. Even Draco Malfoy blinked. No one expected such a clean solution—especially not from someone so young. Unless he'd seen it beforehand, which seemed unlikely, there was no way a first-year should know this.
The clerk nodded and handed Adrian a silver star-shaped "Merit of Logic" badge, the six-pointed edges twinkling faintly under wandlight. Adrian also received plenty of admiring stares.
"The second puzzle also involves coins," the clerk said, eyeing Adrian with interest. "Only one player is allowed to attempt. Who'll go?"
Ron stepped back immediately. "You have to do it," he whispered. "You've got the brain for it."
Adrian gave a short nod. "I'll go."
The clerk conjured a stack of thick red velvet and draped it over Adrian's eyes.
"There are twenty-three Knuts laid out flat on this table," the clerk said. "Ten show the obverse, thirteen the reverse. You cannot see or feel which are which. You may divide them into two piles. How can you ensure each pile has the same number of face-up coins?"
Ron groaned behind the blindfolded Adrian. "That's impossible! They feel the same!"
"Maybe Divination would help…"
"Not blindfolded it won't—can't even look at tea leaves like this."
Adrian ignored them. Calmly, he reached out and separated thirteen Knuts into one pile and left ten in the other. Then, without turning any of the ten, he flipped over all thirteen in the first pile.
"Done," he said.
There was a moment of silence—then thunderous applause.
"Incredible! That's exactly right," the clerk said, astonished. "You reversed the imbalance—turning over thirteen unknowns guarantees the flipped ones match the original ten face-ups. This is a known riddle—but even some seventh-years get it wrong!"
He peeled away the velvet blindfold. "You're young—Ravenclaw, I assume? Even some pure-bloods from that house couldn't solve this one so fast. Muggle-borns usually excel at these Muggle-style logic games, but you—"
"I'm pure-blood," Adrian interrupted casually. "Just happened to read a few Muggle puzzle books."
The clerk handed him the next prize: a limited-edition, enchanted Aidan Lynch poster. The Irish National Team Seeker, muscles exaggerated cartoonishly, sat on a Nimbus 2001, shirt torn at the chest, roaring, "RUA!!!" in celebration, a magically animated wind buffeting his red hair.
Adrian blinked once at the poster. "Bit over the top, huh?" He handed it to Ron.
Ron's ears turned pink. Weasley modesty conflicted with Seeker fandom. "I didn't even answer anything," he muttered, though he clutched the poster like treasure. "Thanks, Adrian. I'll put this right by my bed."
"Not sure that's wise," Adrian smirked. "With Lynch bellowing 'RUA' in the night, you might not get any sleep."
The clerk laughed. "You want to keep going? There's one more round."
He was clearly enjoying the crowd's reaction to Adrian's speed—and watching bystanders like Malfoy get mentally walloped. Even Muggle-born onlookers whispered in disbelief at how quickly Adrian solved each puzzle. British wizarding education rarely emphasized mathematics or logic.
"Of course we'll continue!" Ron blurted. "Adrian's amazing!"
He didn't normally warm to know-it-alls—Percy Weasley was proof of that—but Adrian didn't rub it in. He just… solved things. And somehow made Ron feel included.
"All right," the clerk said, excitement crackling in his wand. "Spellwork round. What's the incantation for the Levitation Charm?"
This question separated the readers from the trained.
It was hard. First-years typically didn't cast real spells until classes began. The answer required either prior schooling or previewing The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1.
But Adrian's eyes lit up.
"Wingardium Leviosa," he answered instantly. He couldn't help but pronounce it in the correct tone—"Levi-oh-sa," not *"Leviosar"—*just like Hermione Granger had in the films.
He remembered the scene so well—Ron's mocking tone, the floating feather, the fireplace in the Gryffindor common room. He'd watched that moment a dozen times.
But he also felt a twist of anxiety. That's probably the last spell I can name from memory…
Just then, a voice shimmered in his mind—ethereal, melodic, feminine—as though echoing from beyond time.
"Ding—the Xueba System is now bound to host."